


Humbler Games

by Morbane



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Gen, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/pseuds/Morbane
Summary: An ambitious would-be Gamemaker suggests a serial entertainment to show in between the Games.





	Humbler Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anthusiasm (HalfwayDecentFanfiction)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayDecentFanfiction/gifts).



Marcus Virtue leaned forward slightly in his chair, and hoped that his intensity came across as conviction, energy, and commitment, rather than mere excess enthusiasm. "So you see how this initiative is intended to _complement_ the Games, not replace them," he said. He gestured deferentially, his hand open. "Entertainment Division's Head Producer is very enthusiastic about the idea, but given the... sensitivity, we thought it best to consult with higher authorities early in planning. I was honoured that you would meet with me personally."

President Snow sipped his tea, and, lacking any indication of approval or disapproval, Marcus was forced to continue.

"The show would be designed to last one season of Immerse-N, though the structure would allow for repeat seasons. In the first phase, the audience meets the candidates. A series of scenes would be staged to first build, then reduce, audience sympathy for the candidates. I have full psychological profiles, biographies, and over 100 hours of footage each for 40 candidates to ensure that their worst traits can be brought to light."

"Only 40?" Snow asked. "A small pool from which to select 24... I presume your screening to date has been thorough."

"Of course," Marcus said too earnestly, bobbing his head in frantic assurance. "Thank you, you bring me to a point I wanted to make clear. We considered using 24 candidates, but discarded the idea for several reasons, and decided to use only four real players. First - as you say - we wanted to be rigorous in our selections. Second, this is a scripted story: 24 characters would provide realism, but it's far easier to design the narrative we want around fewer characters. _If_ there is a second season, going from four to, say, six or eight, gives us a means to increase the drama. We'll have to spend time introducing our four characters properly - we don't have the luxury to do that for 24, or if we did, we'd tip our hand about which characters we expected to win by the amount of screen time we gave them. And third, this show is _inspired_ by the Games. It isn't meant to parallel them, or replace them. The stakes of the true Games should always be higher."

"You've convinced me that you have put some consideration into this," Snow said. "Continue."

"Ah, yes," Marcus said, wondering if he'd been damned with faint praise. Never mind. The supreme leader of Panem was always going to be his toughest audience. "I described Phase One - the introduction. Phase Two, the shortest, is the conspiracy phase. The characters are encouraged to realise that their new introductory lives in Panem are a farce. At least two episodes deal with the fallout of their realisations, possibly with background distractions to keep the tension from being too circular and dialogue-heavy."

Snow's mouth quirked in amusement. Marcus wasn't quite sure why.

"And then, the conclusion. Phase Three will have a confrontation - staged if necessary - and then the four characters will enter their own fast-paced survival Games. No more than one character will survive. Ideally, one character's death will be at another's hands. It is not necessary that there is a surviving character. This isn't live entertainment. Editing can produce whatever narrative is desired." He smiled, and took a chance. "I personally favour the tragedy, whereby all candidates perish and the audience is confirmed in their understanding of the world. What do you think?"

Snow was slow to respond. "Hm. It's neater. I am loathe to import citizens to Panem this way."

"Indeed," Marcus agreed. "Indeed. Well, our screening has covered that as well - but I thought, for that reason, you might like to have the _personal_ final choice of candidates."

With the hand that he had earlier held open, he now produced a data chip. This time he made no effort to rein in his bright, overeager smile.

Snow took the data chip.

 _There_. Marcus did not sigh. Surely this was endorsement.

"Thank you, Virtue," Snow said softly. "I trust you will hold the project until confirmation is given."

"Of course," Marcus said easily. Budget, now, was a different thing - he had already allocated time and resources from several departments to making this happen. But if it didn't, well. He hadn't got this far without learning how to swallow losses.

"I hope you will enjoy the profiles, President Snow," he said, and stood to acknowledge dismissal.

* * *

The rooms were stone and stark and _stank_. Elinor Shelstrop knew she wasn't meant to be there, but she didn't have a choice about it.

The stylists fussed with her hair. 

"I think I rocked my best look with a kind of a layered thing," Elinor told them. "I think I have pictures?"

"When you went to a school dance with your teenage cousin? Yes, we have pictures too." The stylists were profoundly unimpressed.

Elinor wished that being unimpressed worked as well for her. The stylists were profoundly uninterested in their work; she could do a million times better work if she'd ever had access to their tools. But she was stuck here submitting to their hands, and every time she made a fuss the world just went away.

Maybe not as far as the people here would like it to, however.

Under a shining dome, she blinked awake and heard a chorus of curses.

A cacophony, and then words she could make out:

"Mr Virtue? It's the mindlab here. Technician Opal. Candidate Three has rejected the memory implant again."

There was a very long pause. Elinor felt drowsy. They probably wanted her to roll over and go to sleep. Bastards. She wasn't going to do that for them.

But the pause and the murmured conversation were so long that her eyes started to close anyway.

On the other end of the line, Technician Opal heard: "Don't worry. Change of plans. Do your best with a third try, and if it fails, inform your project leaders. Don't try a fourth."

* * *

Marcus was all beaming smiles, and every time he spoke, Elinor felt a surge of positivity. Literally that. Wow okay, that was fake. So the idea was to play along.

"So this is my house?" she asked, all excited, like it was coming home to the home she'd never known she wanted.

"Exactly that." He looked so proud. She so badly wanted to puncture his grin. But she couldn't, at least not until she knew what was going on.

She took a big risk on Chidi. She'd always thought she was a good judge of people, but what if he was acting? But his naked hope was so convincing. She took a breath to give herself strength to let him down right away.

"You'll never betray me, right?" she said, because excuse her for having self-preservation instincts.

"Of course not," he said, and then she was free to speak.

* * *

She went after Tahani next.

Some of them had to be ... candidates ... and some of them had to be real. And she'd bet her last credit, her life, that Tahani was real. Pretty, so pretty, but not _unreal_ pretty. Trying too hard. Because Elinor knew all about trying too hard.

Except that in the first conversation, she realised Tahani bought into all this crap. She thought this was really Paradise. She thought she really deserved it.

Fuck. Fine. She could manipulate that, she supposed.

But she suspected she wasn't supposed to win. People like Tahani were supposed to win. It sure wasn't Jayson. Or Chidi.

(Why did the citizens of the Capitol want Tahani to win? Screw them. She supposed she'd better find out.)

* * *

"Yeah," Marcus said, his grin nervous, "turns out I was wrong about my producer... turns out I'm part of the show now."

"Really," Tahani said, as scathing as Elinor had hoped she'd be in similar circumstances. "How are we meant to believe that?"

He blinked, he coughed. "I don't know."

At her side, Elinor _saw_ Tahani relaxing into acceptance, protectiveness.

"Hm," Elinor said. "You'd better have a tonne of insider information."

Her mind was already spinning frantically. Wondering how to get them all out alive.

It was as if this show had succeeded in stimulating her desire to help people. Against, naturally, every aspect of her baseline personality.

Well, fork it.

She'd try.

**Author's Note:**

> PS: they all get rescued à la Hunger Games: the 75th games. Or something else. But no guaranteed death.


End file.
